Keys
by geekchic79
Summary: Series of Hernst drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

I've noticed how, whenever I walk back from your house, down the pitch black winding streets and up to my darkened front door, I take the keys from my pocket too early. My fingers find the small silver key to your window first, perhaps because it's the one I want to use the most. Then the cold heavy one that opens my locker at school-another place I'll see you. A padlock key, a backdoor key, a diary key, a key that serves no purpose and who's use I've long since forgotten and then, finally, the front door key.

The twisted lump of metal grates against inside the lock as I find myself forcing the door open. Mother and father in the sitting room, sister slumped in slumber over her homework at the kitchen table. No one has heard me come in. I creep up the stairs, one foot at a time, missing out the seventh step because it creaks from the time you slipped on the stairs and I had to grab your hand to stop you from falling. Ernst. That was the first time we really knew each other outside of the world of school, adults and religion.

"Hanschen, is that you?" my father's voice sounds from a distant part of the house

"Yes, father,"

"Where have you been?"

"Out, father"

"Don't take that tone with me! Where have you been?"

"I was going to… study, father, with Ernst Robel, but he wasn't home."

"You spend too much time with that boy"

"He's a friend… sir"

"A school friend?"

"Since the beginning of the year,"

silence

"goodnight sir"

But my father does not reply, I catch sight of the moon through the dimmed, icy window pain.

I remember, being so close to you, and not being able to touch, to kiss. Sitting in front of you in class -it was everything I could do not to turn and stare and give everything away. But I had to play the game, wait; looking back the real reasons escape me. What were the odds that you felt exactly the same? How was I supposed to know?

Six years and I've come to love everything about you, your awkward little movements, the way you stutter over your words in class, the way your right eyebrow jerks upwards when your really, really laughing. And then, more recently, the feel of your skin on mine, the taste of your lips, your shaky breathing as I trail my fingers across your stomach.

Running back, late one night after losing track of time in the vineyard. That's when I first knew. There holding you close to me under the starlight for one more kiss goodbye. I knew. That it'd stopped being a game. I wanted so much just to tell you. But I couldn't. I don't understand how it's so easy for you. To tell me you love me and not be afraid –afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of being hurt.

"I love you" I whisper it under my breath, trying it out, testing the words on my tongue. How did I fall so far, so fast? How have you done this to me?

I called tonight, but you weren't there, it's been two nights now. I haven't seen you, I can't think, I can't focus. Even when everything tells me that this is wrong. I can't stop. With you it feels so right.

I've noticed how, whenever you walk towards my house, down the sun-soaked winding streets and up to my blue front door, you try and tame your raven black hair, even though it looks perfect just a little bit messy. You smooth down your neat clothes, as if they weren't going to end up on the floor just a few minutes after you stepped inside. You smile at my sister and shyly greet my parents as they leave the house, you're nervous, your breathing is already heavy and ragged by the time you've seen me at the window. Our eyes meet and my heart starts to race faster than the speed of sound, your just the other side of the thin, shabby square of wood, I can almost feel the heat of your body, so close- And then, finally, the front door key.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shhhh!"

"What?!"

"You're parents will hear us!" you whisper scandalised

"Oh Ernst you needn't let a little thing like that bother you-"

You bite your lip, trying not to giggle, "oh yes, I'm sure that would go down well, hello Mr Rillow, Mrs Rillow I was just accompanying your son home to-"

"Study?" I tease, putting on my father's brash abrasive voice "You bloody boys spend too much time together!" you start to laugh, mimicking the high, anxious voice of your own father:

"Why are you always in the bedroom with the door locked?"

I put on your soft stutter, "n-n-nothing father, just ummm top secret…Sunday school exercises" (one of your more ridiculous excuses,)

"Wait, I don't really sound like that do I?"

"Come on!" I tease, pulling you further down the dark corridor leading to the servant's staircase we can use to creep up to my bedroom, you stumble and I trip and we both burst out laughing.

I grab you by your tie, pulling you towards me and pressing our lips together,

"Oh god-"

"Shhhh" Its my turn to be cautious now, as I slowly inch the door closed behind us, leaving us alone in my bedroom, your face is inches from my own,

"I love you"

"I love you too"

SPRINGAWAKENINGSPRINGAWAKENINGSPRINGAWAKENINGSPRINGAWAKENINGSPRINGAWAKENING

Midnight, and your pale skin is lit vivid by the lightening, you lie there breathing softly like a patient under ether. I write this by the light of a single candle, nearly at its end. The melted wax swells at the rim, ready to dribble down and burn my fingers. I don't know why I lit so many candles in the first place when I knew yours was the only one I'd keep alight.

As I sit on the seat by the window I pull the curtain slightly, a sudden shift in the moonlight draws my eye to your shadow on my bare wall. What would they say if they knew? It's so dark I can just make out the edge of the trees against the night sky. It's a strange colour blue, unlike anything I can put into words. And that's not like me. It almost matches the very centre of the brief candle, the colour of the flame.

Another four hours drifted away with you today, under the shadow of a willow tree.

I reach across to the bed and brush away the tousled dark hair that's fallen across your forehead, you're skin is cool to the touch. Our old house, usually so silent, creaks from deep within; the foreboding sense of an oncoming storm.

As I get up my shadow moves to match yours, you turn over in your sleep and snuggle into my chest as I climb back into bed. The rosy light of the single candle throws everything into a soft glow. I think this is the closest to heaven that I'll ever be.


End file.
